4 Folk, Walking the Dogs

FOWC: Empathy

“We’re all in this together” he said, “just close your eyes, look slightly up and ahead and concentrate, block out any noises, block out the thumping bass, block out the fractured chatter of passers by the other side of the small hedge. Think, think, think hard and let it flow.”

Trying to have a piss when drunk and smashed out of his head wasn’t easily done, he was used to doing it outside, he was a farmer after all, and he was used to doing it here or hereabouts, this was his land. But he had never staged a festival before and whatever the organiser had slipped into his drink was making things a little wobbly and skew whiff to say the least.

Normally these fields were full of 2 things; grass, lots of it, and sheep; a hundred and thirty two, last count, they’d lost a few to foxes and a dog had caught one a few weeks ago, didn’t catch the dog or the owner but my God he’d wanted to kill him. How he’d have loved to drive into that idiot’s place of work and pipe a load of slurry into his office, covering the walls in liquified cow shit. Those Joules types, they’re not country folk they don’t understand the delicate balance of the ecosystem, the nature of nurturing livestock, the constant recycling of all products on the farm, nothing goes to waste, even the stuff which should go to waste sits in a barn waiting to be re-used. If only these city folk could employ some empathy with the people who work the land…

Just then a twitch from his crotch and a small trickle of liquid, a slow trickle gaining in force and volume to a little more.